


Flip the Switch Up

by bruisespristine



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Anal, BDSM, Buttplugs, Exhibitionism (kind of), F/F, Handcuffs, Little bit of Knife Play, Predicament Bondage, Public Sex, Wax Play, a bunch of stuff, check the warning, it's kinky is what I'm saying, kinda forced orgasm?, little bit of Blood Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-05-22 11:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6077244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bruisespristine/pseuds/bruisespristine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world's unluckiest muggers think following Root and Shaw home is a good idea. Shaw ends up with some energy to burn, fortunately Root has some ideas about working it off. {twoshot, pwp}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You know it's not only love, dear

**Author's Note:**

> titles from [the Faint, Erection](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/faint/erection.html)

The night is thick and heavy, the narrow street littered with broken glass and pieces of twisted metal glinting like jagged teeth against the oily asphalt. 

Shaw has been agitated all evening, and Root probably hasn’t been helping, never missing an opportunity to slip a sly innuendo into conversation, or brush up against her unnecessarily. 

In fact, Root is so intent on walking as closely to Shaw as possible without literally being on top of her that it takes her completely by surprise when Shaw whirls around, sliding her backpack off her shoulders to thump onto the dirty sidewalk behind her.

Root catches up fast though, and turns as well, blinking as she realises that there are three youngish men only a dozen paces behind them. Huh.

Shaw cracks her neck to one side, and then to the other, the noise echoing through the dark, hemmed-in street. Her shoulders rise almost imperceptibly, a wolf lifting its hackles. Root can feel the excitement in her and it makes her eager, giddy.

To either side, buildings tower over them, adding to the forbidding atmosphere, and Root’s guts squirm familiarly with the anticipation of violence. 

“Oblivious, or aggressive?” Shaw inquires in an even tone.

The guy in front—a well-built lad around six-foot-four, with acne pocking his sallow cheeks under a wispy beard—takes a half step forward, one hand stuffed in his hoodie pocket, “what d’you say?”

Shaw angles herself in front of Root without really seeming to move, and a little thrill of warm pleasure tingles down Root’s spine. She leans her shoulder on a convenient lamppost, watching with interest.

“Well, three dudes, walking behind two not-dudes,” Shaw gestures between herself and Root, “at... three in the morning, getting closer to us as we pass an area with no cameras, you crossed the road when we did. Either you’re so oblivious as to what it’s like being a woman that you didn’t realise how threatening your behaviour is, in which case, be on your merry way and try to grow as people, or you were planning on jumping us as soon as we got around that corner,” she thumbs over her shoulder, “so, which is it?”

The smirk on her face could best be described as ‘wolfish’ and the three guys exchange glances with each other, looking unsure of themselves momentarily. 

Root snickers, unable to stop herself, “oh, so you _were_ going to jump us, and now you’re not so sure? What, afraid we might be too much for you?”

Shaw manages to give Root an exceedingly baleful look without taking her eyes completely off the would-be muggers and Root grins, delighted, straightening up and stalking towards Shaw’s back, ghosting her hand lightly over the back pocket of Shaw’s jeans because she can.

“Root,” Shaw hisses, easing away from her, clearly not impressed, and Root practically bounces, excited by this turn of events. The recon mission they had been on earlier had been boring as hell, and she’s pleased that something a little more adrenaline-inducing has come along, even if it is in the form of three stupid twenty-somethings who may or may not have knives in their pockets.

The Machine is remaining rather quiet, so Root can only assume that she’s judged Shaw well capable of taking care of the situation. 

“Yes, sweetie? Oh, you want them all to yourself?” Root puts her hands up in mock surrender, taking a step backwards, “seems a _little_ greedy, but you know I’d do anything for you.”

“What the fuck?” The lead boy seems to have recovered his composure, and he pulls his hand out of his pocket, a switchblade catching the moonlight with a wicked gleam as he flicks it open, “just give us your bags and phones, and we’ll let you walk out of here.”

Root can’t help feel just a tad sorry for them as Shaw shifts onto the balls of her feet with a liquid, feline movement. 

“Ooh, shiny. Can I have that?” Root asks cheerily, gesturing at the knife, and Shaw takes a second to roll her eyes and then snaps into action so fast Root can barely follow her movement across the few meters separating her from the attackers.

The lead guy lets out a startled yelp as he finds his arm being twisted backwards at the elbow as Shaw lifts and steps underneath it, jerking it up behind his back until he drops the knife which skitters away into the street. 

Shaw stamps on the back of his knee and shoves him so he catapults forward, failing to catch himself. Root watches with admiration as he skids a good yard on his face, scarlet flowering vividly on his jaw as he moans and clutches himself.

Light flashes off a second weapon as Shaw ducks under a swinging fist and spins around the guy, keeping him between her and the last attacker. 

Root finds her taser in her purse, just in case one of them has a gun, and then darts in to scoop up the dropped knife. No point in taking unnecessary risks with Sameen’s precious skin, after all. She’s so small what would be a nick on someone else could easily catch an artery.

In the three seconds it took for Root to clear the weapon, Shaw must have managed to kick the first guy in the head or something, as he’s now splayed on his side with his eyes closed, livid blood covering half his face. 

The second guy is getting to his feet shakily while the third guy is currently receiving multiple knee strikes to the face, until Shaw pushes him backwards and he falls over in a heap. 

Root busies herself grabbing zipties from Shaw’s specially designated backpack pocket, and handily hogties the two floored and groaning men while Shaw smashes the last one into a wall and lets him slip down it slowly.

Shaw’s shoulders are heaving, looking disproportionately worked up for the fairly shoddy fight the three men managed, and Root raises an eyebrow at her while checking the ties on her second bondage victim, “you okay?” 

Shaw refuses to meet her eyes. Instead she squats down and grabs the guy’s wallet, and then does the same with the other two, gesturing for Root to tie up the last remaining dude without saying a word.

“Sameen?” Root makes quick work of restraining the final mugger and watches as Shaw rifles through their billfolds, pocketing their driver’s licenses and cash, then dropping the rest of the contents down a convenient storm drain. 

She still doesn’t answer Root, and Root starts to feel the tingles of worry tugging at her guts. Shaw’s not moving like she’s hurt, but she could have hit her head, or even been stabbed and not registered it properly yet.

Shaw doesn’t even glance at her, movements jerky and brutal, almost uncoordinated. Root frowns, a rush of concern suddenly turning her guts to ice. 

She checks the guy’s properly tied and then strides over to Shaw, grabbing her chin with the intention of forcing her to look up, so she can check for a head injury.

Of course, Shaw could get out of her grip in less than a second, could have Root on the floor in a heartbeat, and that’s one of the things that makes it feel okay to manhandle her a little. Shaw _lets_ Root, and she doesn’t let anyone else, and that has always felt like it meant something.

When Shaw finally obeys the insistent tug of her hand and looks up at her, Root can’t swallow her gasp. 

Shaw’s eyes are wide, black pools of desire. The look on her face is so _desperate_ so needy that Root feels it hit her deep inside, melting every shudder of icy stress in her stomach with hot fire that licks at her insides, burns through her veins. Her inner muscles clench, sending a wave of arousal driving through her and turning her breath to shrapnel.

“Root...” It’s a pained groan, thick with lust, and Root yanks Shaw roughly up by the jaw before she’s finished thinking about it, pulling her into her mouth. 

Their teeth clack together, Shaw’s too short and Root has to bend to seal their lips together. It’s hard to push in close with her body, like she wants, but it’s hot and frantic and _perfect_. Root bullies her mouth open, licks at Shaw’s teeth and Shaw sucks on her tongue, slides her hands under the hem of Root’s shirt and tugs at it, seeking skin and not seeming to care that they’re in the middle of a small street with three semi-conscious and restrained gentlemen at their feet. 

The touch of her fingers is lightning bolts through Root’s stomach, making her knees weak and her head spin, she loses herself in the fiery softness of Shaw’s mouth, until a moan from nearby drags her back to reality. The public thing is definitely kind of hot, but this is the first chance she’s had with Shaw since the CIA safe house, and she doesn’t want to get arrested halfway through. She might not get another shot.

She breaks the kiss, and Shaw makes a distressed noise that sends prickles of energy down Root’s spine to burn between her legs, she’s hot and heavy and aching already. And Shaw is still leaning up for her mouth, eyes huge and dark, yet somehow incandescent. 

It’s hard not to just lean down and slam their lips back together, Shaw’s fingers scratch impossibly light patterns over the juts of Root’s hipbones and Root just _wants_ , but she forces herself to pull back and then bodily drags Shaw around the corner by the collar. She slams her against the wall, hard, holding her there with a palm splayed out on her breastbone, moon-white against Shaw’s black shirt.

The breath oofs out of Shaw on impact, and she groans under it, her eyes fluttering closed as she leans back into the bricks, spreading her legs and turning her head to expose her neck.

Root doesn’t say no to invitations like that. She winds her hand into Shaw’s hair, yanks so Shaw has to stretch up on her toes as Root licks a teasing path down the line of her throat and then digs her teeth in violently when Shaw whimpers and shivers, tensing under her hard bite. 

She sucks, dragging blood to flower under the surface of the skin, so close she can almost taste it, and Shaw gasps and scrabbles at her sides, sliding one hand down the back of Root’s jeans to grab a fistful of her ass, digging in enough that Root’s sure she’ll bruise too. 

The thought sparks even more heat in her, and she works her hand under Shaw’s shirt, pushing up until she can wriggle between Shaw’s bra and her skin, feel the tight, aching point of her nipple, already firm and needy against her palm. 

“Fuck,” it bursts out of Root into Shaw’s neck in a heady gasp, prompting another moan to rush out of Shaw as she exhales, arching her back and pushing her breast into Root’s hand.

“I.. I,” Shaw stutters, not finishing her sentence as Root bites her way across Shaw’s collarbone, wedging a leg between Shaw’s thighs and slamming her hips against the wall. 

Root can feel the heat of her through both of their pants, and she roughly hauls Shaw’s shirt up, needing to press her mouth against more skin, to drag her teeth down Shaw’s abdomen and sink into her hipbones. 

She slides onto her knees, letting go of Shaw’s hair on her way down in favour of wrapping long fingers around her throat, digging into the soft, warm flesh and pushing her head back against the wall. 

Shaw quakes and tries to grind against her, but Root scrapes her teeth across Shaw’s waistband and doesn’t give her anything to push against. 

She pops Shaw’s fly button with her teeth, because what’s the point in knowing tricks like that if you don’t use them when the woman you’ve been fantasising about for months is pressing against you, shaking against you in desperate need?

Shaw makes a throaty, gasping noise, letting her head roll back against the wall under Root’s demanding hand, but when Root glances upward she’s staring down at her, with her lower lip trapped by her white front teeth. 

Root pulls back enough to grin at her, a slow, daring grin, and Shaw’s face softens, her eyebrows twitching in something that looks enough like longing that Root drags her pants and underwear down to mid thigh and worms her hand into the warm crevice, leaning in to suck a mark against Shaw’s hipbone. 

Shaw whines and bucks as Root’s fingers make contact with her slick, liquid center. Root can hardly hold back her own moan, aware that she’s on her knees in a public place, that anyone walking down the street and coming across the beaten man-children is going to be calling the police any minute now, and instead concentrates on the feel of Shaw’s over-heated skin against her lips. 

Moving down, the scrape of Shaw’s neatly trimmed hair against her lips is a rush of desire, the way Shaw judders, trying to wriggle into Root’s mouth as well as grind against her teasing fingers. 

Root pushes into Shaw’s tight heat at the same time as she squeezes close enough to drag her tongue across the base of Shaw’s clit, unable to reach far, but doing the best she can with limited access. 

Shaw flutters her hand against Root’s hair like she wants to grab, to hold, her other palm pressed flat against the wall behind her, helping provide leverage to push into Root’s searching tongue and busily working hand. 

She’s burning hot where Root is thrusting into her, hard, shallow strokes that drag against her gspot, muscles clutching firmly at Root’s fingers like she wants to trap her inside. Root hums in appreciation and redoubles her efforts, barely able to breathe with how tightly she’s pressing her face into Shaw’s pussy, inhaling and tasting her in an almost-overwhelming sensory indulgence.

Shaw’s knees buckle and Root catches her with the hand around her throat, tightening her fingers and feeling the squirming movement of Shaw’s pulse, trapped against her thumb. She squeezes and then releases the pressure, sliding her hand down to press against Shaw’s sternum, keeping her pushed back against the wall and wedging a shoulder against Shaw’s thigh to help keep her upright.

The little sounds escaping Shaw’s lips above her make Root clench on nothing, thick heaviness aching between her legs. If she had a spare hand she’d touch herself, but she’s basically holding Shaw up with her hand against her chest and her fingers thrusting deep inside. 

Shaw comes with a heady cry that Root revels in, her muscles clamping savagely on Root’s fingers until she can’t move them, only wait for Shaw to loosen a little, soften around her. She pulls out slowly when she can, and Shaw starts breathing again in a huge, shuddering moan, curling forward. 

Root presses a last kiss against her clit and then straightens up, supporting Shaw by sliding an arm around her waist while she tugs her pants back into place. 

Shaw’s pliable and obedient, letting Root manhandle her pants back up, just resting her shoulders and head against the bricks behind her, making little sounds with every exhale. 

Root can’t resist her parted lips, leans down to kiss her, and Shaw clumsily kisses back, still fogged out and fuzzy from what was clearly a seriously intense orgasm. 

The sound of sirens fades into Root’s good ear, and she pulls back from the gentle kiss, cupping Shaw’s jaw with her hand. The smaller woman blinks her eyes open, looking dazed and aroused in about equal parts.

“We have to get out of here,” Root points out, reluctant, and Shaw blinks, focuses, a familiar smirk settling on her lips. 

“Your place or mine?” 

Root cocks her head, looks at Shaw, dishevelled and satisfied looking, joy pulsing through her that she tries to keep off her face, just in case it's too much for Shaw and she changes her mind, “I have an excellent toy selection.”

“Yours it is,” Shaw murmurs, pushing Root back a little and straightening up, shoving her hand down her pants for a second to adjust her underwear before doing up her flies and starting to walk down the alley.

She stutters to a halt when Root grabs her hand, about to pull away when Root lifts it to her mouth, sucks Shaw’s index finger between her lips and runs her tongue teasingly over the sensitive pad, hunting for the taste of her. Shaw makes a noise somewhere between a whine and a growl, and yanks her hand back, speeding up and flagging a taxi as soon as she’s out of the alley.

Root piles into the backseat after her, raising a brow in question. Shaw just mumbles, “shut up,” and gives the driver Root’s address without asking for it.


	2. a memory in the dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title again from The Faint- Erection
> 
> This chapter is BDSM heavy!  
>  **content warning!** handcuffs, hot wax, knifes, sadism, little bit of blood play, predicament bondage (inc: crotch ropes) oral, anal, buttplugs, kinda forced orgasm, dildos, harnesses, vibrators.
> 
> I do not recommend playing with ropes without taking a class of some kind.

Shaw feels like she shouldn’t even look at Root right now, in case she can’t restrain the urge to climb on top of her, taxi driver be damned. She spends the journey looking out the window at the flashing streetlights, wondering with a sense of delicious anticipation what the night is going to bring. 

She can feel Root’s eyes on her, weighted and eager, but she can’t look over, not yet. She lets her mind drift to what Root could have been thinking about when she said ‘toys’, remembers the feeling of Root’s hard fingers driving inside her, soothing the violent, sharp ache of desire. 

It’s still humming through her, she feels taut like an overstretched wire, trembling and vibrating with every tiny movement of the woman sitting a foot away. 

The first time they fucked Shaw hadn’t been able to clear her mind of it for days, had kept flashing back to remembered pain and pleasure, the dark satisfaction in Root’s eyes when Shaw came apart under her. The bruises had faded before the memories did. 

“Shaw,” Root has the door open, the taxi driver looking at her in the mirror—she’d been so lost in thought she’d missed them pulling up. 

A little embarrassed, but not enough to cool the red tingling filling her body, Shaw shuffles to the door and slides out, Root slamming it behind her.

They don’t speak on the way up the stairs to Root’s apartment, Shaw can feel her eyes though, tracing down Shaw’s spine. She waits impatiently as Root opens the door, breathing catching as she realises this is it, there’s no turning back if she steps over the threshold. 

She doesn’t want to turn back. 

She walks in, past Root, the kitchen is cool and dark, the night spilling through the windows in the living area draping through the room.

“So, Sameen,” Root purrs from behind her, rustling sounds of fabric coiling under her words. Shaw doesn’t look. “On a scale of one to ten, nine and ten being red, seven and eight being yellow and one to six being green, where would you rank our last night together?” 

Shaw shifts uneasily, besides asking for safe words, Root hadn’t put any pressure on Shaw to communicate anything that first time. Her mind trips back and she inhales sharply as she remembers the binder clips squeezing her nipples into violent, aching-numb points; the teeth that left stamps all over her flesh, she was still discovering new marks for days; the ice cubes and the lighter Root dug up from somewhere, flame licking over her collarbone and worsened by Root’s hot mouth following the same path.

She jumps as Root’s hand lands on her shoulder, curls around the collar of her jacket and tugs. She lets the fabric be pulled away, finds her voice, “four.”

Root snorts, leans in and teeth clamp softly onto her earlobe, gradually increasing in pressure until Shaw releases the noise building up in her chest and then softening, soothing, “four?”

“Five,” Shaw grumbles, begrudgingly. 

“And how high would you like to go this evening?” Root strokes her hands down Shaw’s arms, taking the jacket with them. It slides off and pools on the floor, taking some of Shaw’s stability with it, she puts her hand out to rest on the cold concrete countertop as Root wraps her fingers around Shaw’s hips, slowly, teasingly, digging in harder and harder.

“Uh... seven?” She wishes it wasn’t a question, she’s never good with stuff like this, she trusts Root and she thinks that should be enough. Last time they had a job to do, and no equipment, although Root proved herself to be a talented improviser. But now they have no such constraints.

“Mmm,” Root hums, pulling back, “get naked, wait for me.”

Her hands are gone, her footsteps receding. Shaw undresses slowly, folding each piece of her clothing and arranging it in the order that will allow her to put it back on most rapidly. 

Root comes out of a door Shaw is pretty sure leads to the bedroom, and when Shaw glances over Root’s arms are full. She grins sharply when Shaw catches her eyes, the moonlight streaming through the huge living area window outlining her in silver. She looks like something fey; unreal, slender and manic, lightning in her eyes. 

Shaw shivers.

Watching her for a moment more, with an entirely unreadable expression that nevertheless makes Shaw’s insides turn heavy and throb, Root finally smiles and pads across the room.

Nakedness in front of Root is new, ish. The one night, yeah, she’d been naked, but Root had pulled her clothes clear herself, buried herself in Shaw immediately, played her body like a fucking piano and not once stopped to just _look_ at her like this. 

Shaw crosses her arms over her stomach, and then uncrosses them immediately. She’s not ashamed of her body, she’s proud of it. The hours of work that have sculpted her, the scars etching stories over her warm skin. She puts her hands at her sides, lifting her chin proudly, and Root’s eyes soften.

The cold air in the room makes her shiver, not the look on Root’s face, Shaw tells herself, as Root lays out item after item methodically on the far end of the kitchen counter top, “I’m not gonna let you pick your poison, but if any of these are Red for you, let me know now,” Shaw hears the capitalisation as clear as day.

When she looks, on the counter, there’s a variety of toys and equipment, starting from the fairly standard, a bullet vibrator, handcuffs, a couple of different flavours of dildos, a flared buttplug that look interesting—to the more exciting, a black candle, a lighter and a box of matches, a silver knife that was clearly designed for throwing but has a couple of elastic bands wrapped around the otherwise uninterrupted metal, allowing for grip. There’s a blindfold that Shaw pushes off the counter with her index finger, and Root makes a quiet hum under her breath as it flutters onto the floor. 

Root adds a nylon rope to the display, glancing up, and Shaw follows her eyeline to the floating wooden beam running the length of her kitchen, and something swells in Shaw’s throat that she has to swallow before hooking her finger over the rope and pulling it towards her, just slightly. Enough for Root to see the request. 

A small inhale, and Root rounds the counter, pushing Shaw back against it slowly, the concrete icy against the feverishly hot skin of her back. Her hands curl around the edge instinctively, and Root leans in, noses up her neck to her ear, “I want to mark you,” it’s not phrased as a request, but the fact that she says it at all is, in and of itself. 

Shaw gasps as heat pools in her groin, her eyes flutter closed and she shifts inadvertently, pushing forwards into Root’s body, “nothing permanent,” she mutters. 

“As you wish,” is Root fucking quoting the Princess Bride at her while Shaw’s naked on her kitchen counter? The thought is driven away as Root puts a hand on her chest, pushes her backwards, the surface shockingly cold and hard. There’s enough room between the free end of the countertop and the sink that Shaw ends up lying, her knees bent over the edge and the rest of her body supported by the surface, which is rapidly warming under her. 

Root leans down and her hair swings against Shaw’s neck and shoulders, tickling, and then Root’s kissing her, hot and slow and deep, dominating her mouth with thrusts of her tongue and sharp nips, and Shaw’s head is swimming at the sensation and the need pounding inside her triples, her arms come up to cling onto Root, digging into the leather of her jacket.

It’s too soon before she pulls back, leaving Shaw soaked and wriggling, but obediently letting her hands fall back to her sides. Not for long though. Root grabs something, and Shaw hears metal running on metal with a shivery whisper and then Root pulls her arms up over her head and Shaw feels the familiar weight of handcuffs being clipped onto her. 

An experimental tug lets her know her hands are fastened securely to Root’s tap, god only knows how she did that, but Shaw has a moment to explore with her fingertips and realise the handcuff chain is looped and padlocked and then the smell of sulphur hits her nose and Root is back in her eyeline, candle in one hand, lit match in the other. 

Shaw watches as Root lights the candle, turns it around methodically to maximise the wax produced and also give Shaw enough time to start thinking about how it’s going to _feel_ , the sudden, angry pain, the cooling where it hardens but there’s enough heat trapped in the wax—black, Root knows what she’s doing—to aggravate the injured skin, but when Root will peel the wax away it will just leave a sensitive, overstimulated spot, red, maybe. 

She’s already so deep thinking about what it will be like, that the dropped match takes her by surprise, a sharp burn that fades as the match flickers out against her sternum. 

Above her, Root grins and tips the candle, and sudden singing pain flares on the soft skin of her stomach, making her moan and gasp and arch against the handcuffs. 

Root’s hovering close, watching Shaw’s face with the animated, obsessive look she gets sometimes, like she’s compiling code behind her eager eyes. 

Looking down, Shaw can see the wax, running like oil, curving down the line of her stomach muscles towards her hip, already cooling so the surface dulls before her eyes, and then Root’s tipping the candle again, over the delicate curve of her breast and Shaw’s eyes roll back and she sinks fully into the sensations. 

Root takes her time, occasionally picking the wax away with the very tip of her shiny knife, which is totally overkill but Shaw can’t deny the way it makes her groan and squeeze her thighs together when the tip catches her skin, leaving little red dots edging the pinkened splotches marring her torso. 

After a while, Shaw has no idea how long, sixteen spills and five methodical removals, Root takes her jacket off, leaving her in short sleeves that are clinging to her arm muscles. There’s a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, and Shaw dazedly wants to lean up and rub her nose through it, slide through Root’s heat. 

She moans without really meaning to, and Root blesses her with a vicious grin before leaning down and starting to trail scalding kisses and bites over Shaw’s sensitive torso. She wants to tell her that that’s stupid, Shaw’s bleeding, but probably the Machine knows Shaw’s blood is safe, and Root’s tongue dragging down her ribcage feels like fireworks under her skin and she can’t find the words to tell her she’s an idiot right now. 

Root bites at her nipples roughly, making Shaw arch and cry out, then soothing them with thick strokes of her tongue before sliding away, leaving Shaw’s chest damp and rapidly chilling at her absence. 

The handcuffs are released, and Shaw brings her arms down slowly, rolls her shoulders and looks at Root expectantly. They are so far from done that she can’t wait to see what’s next, her whole skeleton is thrumming with anticipation. She feels like an illuminated version of one of those anatomy charts, every vein and nerve and muscle fiber feels distinct and expectant. 

Root smirks at her and hands her the rope, looking up, “two ends, please, make sure it won’t slide,” and Shaw _shivers_ at the calm possessedness in Root’s tone, before hoisting herself up onto the counter on only slightly shaky legs and making quick work of tying the rope so two long pieces dangle down, and it won’t move from side to side when she tugs on it.

“Good girl,” it’s a purr, and Shaw feels heat flush her, boil in her stomach, and then Root’s somehow between her thighs, tall enough to press her mouth against Shaw’s pussy without lifting too far, and Shaw’s knees buckle and she has to hold the rope to keep her balance. 

Root pulls back, and Shaw actually whimpers, a soft little sound in the back of her throat, and Root smiles fondly at her and points at floor in front of the counter, “stand,” so Shaw does, immediately, slipping down and leaving the ends of the ropes coiled on the countertop as she stands in front of it, facing Root. 

Her breath is hot on Shaw’s neck as she leans forwards, gathers the rope and pulls it around Shaw’s body, over her shoulders, criss-crossed together between her breasts and knotted and then down between her legs. 

Shaw can’t swallow her moan as the material scrapes over her, and when Root tugs a little so she has to go up on her tiptoes to avoid the tension in the ropes now running right across her pussy. Root threads them up behind her together, up her spine then loops them to each other and passes one over each of Shaw’s shoulders, while she shudders and tries not to move. 

Root taps her jaw, “open,” it’s a low hum, and Shaw lets her mouth fall open slowly, and then Root’s carefully placing the pieces of rope between her teeth and tapping her chin and Shaw closes her mouth on the makeshift gag that’s fucking keeping her in an uncomfortable tiptoe position and Root steps back to admire her, looking extremely pleased with herself in a way that makes Shaw’s shoulders relax a little, and her body adjust to the situation.

If she sinks down onto her feet proper, the rope will push up even harder between her legs, unless she tips her head right back to take a little of the strain off. Of course, she could open her mouth slightly let the rope run through, but by the look on Root’s face that’s exactly what she expects Shaw not to do, and Shaw doesn’t wanna disappoint her. 

Suddenly, fingers slide between her legs, the first direct touch to her oversensitive and throbbing clit that wasn't a rough slide of rope, and Shaw lets a strangled moan curl around the thick cords in her mouth, swaying into Root’s touch. 

Root fiddles with her wetness idly, spreads it around, explores the harsh contrast of thick rope pressed into the apex of her thighs and the soft skin right next to it and Shaw’s on the verge of begging, begging for her to just touch her, please, when Root is on her knees again, looking up at Shaw with deep, dark eyes and a smeared red grin before she presses into Shaw between the ropes, sliding her palms up Shaw’s thighs.

This time, there’s no tight jeans in the way, no rush or need to hurry, and Shaw’s jaw aches from squeezing and her calves are protesting loudly and the fucking ropes between her legs are pulling, pulling but Root’s mouth is hot and insistent and just drinking Shaw in and Shaw comes with a soft, heady roll of heat that has her sagging painfully in her bonds before Root pulls them out of her mouth so she can drop down to her feet, gasping for air and blinking tears out of her stinging eyes. 

Root snakes her arms around Shaw’s smaller body, letting her thump against her collarbone, inhale in wet, deep breaths until she has herself under control, and then she pulls back, swats Shaw lightly on the behind and jerks her head towards the door she came out of earlier, “go lay down, I’ll be right there,” and Shaw thinks for a second that Root is done, that she is under the impression Shaw is going to stay the night, and then Root grins at her wickedly, picks up the abandoned knife from the sink and licks it slowly and Shaw knows they are definitely not done.

She gulps and makes her way unsteadily to the bedroom. 

Root’s room is minimalist at best, a queen sized bed with dark blue sheets dappled with white spots in geometric patterns, six recessed lights the only illumination, but Root has them on a dimmer switch and the glow is soft and not offensive.

Shaw sinks onto the mattress gratefully, her body sore and aching in all the right ways. She massages the points of her jaw as she waits for Root, feeling the softness of the bed calming the humming static in her bones.

It’s long enough that Shaw gets impatient before Root joins her, with toys she sets down carefully on the small bedside table, the bullet, the buttplug, a dildo and a harness set up already and Shaw blinks. That seems like a lot of things all at once.

Root urges her legs apart gently, and Shaw is grateful, she’s strung out and her skin is fizzing with even light touches, and the feel of Root’s hands grounds her, pulls her back down. 

She’s kind with her hands, running her thumbs down the slight raw patches of skin where Shaw’s thighs meet her labia, soothing them but igniting the low buzz of pain at the same time, and Shaw groans and rocks into her hands. 

Then they’re gone, and Shaw curls her fingers into the pillows by her head, squirming slightly. Root pulls a glove and some lube out of the drawer by the bed, and Shaw _pulses_ , her whole body clenching.

Root gives her this look, this little pleased look that makes Shaw feel like her whole body might be floating off the mattress but she thumps back down into her skin abruptly when Root’s cold, lubed finger pushes into her ass with very little warning. 

She warms her up, stretches her out, scissoring two fingers and then pushing a third in, and Shaw’s eyes are slammed shut and her body is arching, she’s not even restrained she’s just holding herself still for Root and then her fingers are gone and something thick and hard is teasing at her.

“Look at me,” Root murmurs, pushing forwards a little, and Shaw’s eyes open slowly, the room fuzzing back into reality and Root’s crouched between her legs and as soon as Shaw makes eyecontact the plug pushes into her slowly. 

It burns and aches and pulls in the best possible way, and Shaw thinks she might moan Root’s name as it’s seated firmly, and then there’s a hot mouth on her clit and fingers pushing into her pussy and the plug is shifting with her little movements and everything is just fucking spectacular and then somehow the plug starts vibrating and Shaw shatters under Root’s mouth, spinning out into little pieces that float and settle slowly back into her flesh, into the bed. 

Root sits up, looking pleased, but doesn’t remove the plug or her fingers, just works Shaw’s gspot determinedly until she shudders out another, smaller yet somehow more violent orgasm that fogs her entire body with thick, hot and sticky pleasure. 

She whines and tries to squirm away, and Root laughs softly and pulls out, but leaves the buttplug vibrating inside her, rattling her bones with aftershocks she can’t escape from, and she can only breathe in gasping little breaths and her body won’t move except for where she's clenching, clenching, and then something’s being dragged over her hips. 

When she opens her eyes Root has the harness looped around Shaw's waist, dildo standing proud. 

Root’s straddling her pelvis, naked, when did she get naked? And looking at Shaw with this predatory, violent affection that makes Shaw pulse and clench around the plug that is still fucking buzzing away inside her and then Root shuffles up, reaches down between them and grabs the dick Shaw is suddenly sporting before sinking down onto it with a shuddery cry.

Shaw doesn’t have the energy to move, at all, she may as well be tied up completely, she’s limp and weak and spent and Root is grinding down onto her, grabbing her wrists and squeezing, taking her pleasure out of Shaw’s exhausted body but Shaw wants to participate, damnit, so she fucking grits her teeth sending a little burst of remembered ache shooting through her jaw bone and manages to roll her hips up.

Root laughs, tipping her head back and rocking, rocking forwards until she stiffens on top of Shaw and lets go with one hand to click on the bullet vibrator and hold it at her clit, and Shaw curls her own fingers around Root’s thigh and watches her come. 

The expressions she makes are fucking amazing, and Shaw suddenly feels reenergised, and she wriggles her wrist under Root’s free hand a little and Root peels her eyes open and lets her go, and Shaw grabs the headboard with both hands so she can lift up and up and up into Root’s body and Root lets a soft cry escape her and then Shaw is coming _again_ just at the fucking sight of it, the sight of Root above her and clamping down on her dick and the feel of her knees pressed against Shaw’s sides and then nothing.

***

She wakes up slowly, brutally, peeling her brain off the floor and forcing it to provide her with information. She’s stiff, and sore, and aching aggressively between her legs, her chest is sensitive and the blankets feel sharp and rough on her skin.

There’s someone next to her, long brown hair, pale sliver of shoulder visible above the thick blue duvet she doesn’t recognise, and then it all comes back in a rush and she realises she’s in bed with Root, next to Root, in Root’s apartment with the remnants of a night of violent sex sprinkled all over her body.

The light coming through the window makes her think it’s early still, not far past dawn, and her body feels unresponsive and useless. She tries to sneak out quietly, but Root stirs, rolls towards the door before she makes it out of the room, “Sameen?”

“I’m.. uh. I have to pee,” Shaw mumbles, not sure what to do, she was just going to disappear, but she hurts right down to her bones in all of the best possible ways there are to hurt, and when she looks at her body there are faded pink splotches and little red pinpricks all over her chest, and she feels _something_ that she can’t put a name on. 

She leaves Root in the bedroom, pees, because that part was definitely true, and it fucking _hurts_ enough she makes a choked, embarrassing whimper noise when she finally succeeds in forcing her body to obey, and then pads into the kitchen to get her clothes.

The ropes are still dangling over the beam, and she touches her face in remembrance, the look Root was wearing when she dropped to her knees for the second time that evening. The look that said maybe that she wanted to wreck Shaw as often as she was allowed to. 

Shaw swallow, kicks her neat pile of clothes over and walks back to the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my life blood they fuel me and keep me warm. If this warmed you in any way it is your civic duty to leave me one :)


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